


the space between our misconceptions and our hopes

by Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)



Category: Minority Report (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-05 02:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5356760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/pseuds/Sandrine%20Shaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Maybe it's like looking at an old painting in an exhibition hall: it's impossible to see things clearly when you're standing too close. Maybe that's what happened to her: she's become too close.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	the space between our misconceptions and our hopes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [monanotlisa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monanotlisa/gifts).



Lara can't remember how many times she heard someone at the precinct say, 'I wish we still had Precrime.' She used to feel the same way. No matter how satisfying it feels to catch a killer, it must be so much better to know you've prevented a murder from happening, that you actually saved a life rather than merely bringing a criminal to justice after the deed is done.

She never thought about the price being paid. Not the potential false convictions, the minority reports, the John Andertons of this world who might never have committed the murder they were arrested for – those were the obvious flaw in the system. But like most other cops of the post-Precrime generation (or, really, any of those active during the course of the program), Vega never wasted a stray thought on the fact that the entire program was based on the utter and complete disregard of the lives of the three people it depended on. Easy to not even consider them people, just parts of an algorithm, tools to predict and stop murders, creating a safer, kinder, _better_ world. 

It's hard to keep thinking of it like that when you've actually met one of those tools and realized that they're a person just like you, someone who feels and loves and suffers just like any other human being, who would have lived a normal life if it hadn't been stolen from him. 

Meeting Dash doesn't change Lara's world, but working with him – getting to know the person behind the visions – does. Even as she's reaping the benefits of his abilities, it becomes impossible to keep buying into the idea that saving potential future murder victims somehow validates sacrificing the lives of the precogs. 

That's what Agatha doesn't understand: Lara could never sell them out now that she knows them. Certainly not Dash, who loves old show tunes from the last century and has a weakness for lasagne, who's adorably competitive doing karaoke and takes every failure to save a life on a devastatingly personal level; someone with whom she has so much more in common than merely a shared desire to save people. Not Arthur, even when he's being a shady asshole trying his best to pretend that nothing gets to him. Not even Agatha with her icy demeanor and all her suspicions and her trust issues.

They've already had eight years of their lives stolen, and Lara won't add to that, will in fact do everything she can to protect them from being forced back into the milk bath.

*

"We don't have to run," Dash says, afterwards. "Blomfeld's dead. No one knows what we look like. It would only look suspicious if we just disappeared. It might set people on our trail."

"So, what, you go back to Metro P.D. and it's business as usual until the next time someone digs a little deeper and puts us all into that _thing_ for good? Don't you get it? It's just a matter of time before it happens again." Lara's seen Arthur angry before, but it's always been cool and measured. Even when Dash was kidnapped, he acted like he was perfectly in control. This time, his anger is raw and close to the surface, as if losing Andromeda – watching her die first in his vision and then once again right before him – has taken sandpaper to his polished, slick exterior.

Dash refuses to back down. "What's the alternative? We run. And then – what? When we settle down somewhere, do you really think we'll stop seeing murders? Maybe you can stand by and watch it happen, but I can't and I won't. It doesn't matter if we're here or in Barcelona or Australia or Iceland. So unless you can find us a place where no one ever kills anyone, I don't see how running away will keep us safe in the long term."

"Dash is right." 

Three heads snap to Agatha, who's remained conspicuously silent during the argument so far. Her gaze skims over Dash and Lara before coming to rest on Arthur as she continues. "There is no safe place for us unless we blend in and ignore the visions. And even then, there's no guarantee that no one will track us down if they're actively looking for us. Our DNA is probably still on record somewhere, even if the DOD have it locked away."

"I can't believe you're taking his side," Arthur spits.

"At least here we have people who are going to help keep us safe." Dash's tone is quieter now, placatory, but no less urgent. His eyes lock with Lara's and she offers a small, reassuring smile. 

"You know you do." It's the only thing she's added to the conversation. Truth is, she agrees with Arthur that it might be safer for them to run. There's no telling whether Blomfeld has perhaps shown his business associates the precogs' profiles, if the buyers are not already out there looking for them. But if they're not, Agatha is right and disappearing might raise unnecessary suspicion. Lara can't make that decision for them, can't have it on her conscience if they choose wrong.

Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers, shaking his head. "Fine. I want it on record that I think this is a terrible idea, and when they put us all in the milk bath again – and for good, this time – I'll be the one telling you, _I told you so_." He's still angry, probably will be for a long time, but it's obvious that he's too tired to keep fighting this particular battle.

The relief that washes over Lara makes her feel selfish and guilty.

*

What happened that day in the warehouse seems massive. It feels like there should be consequences, some sort of fall-out, and everyone's waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Instead, it all goes eerily smoothly. Blomfeld is reported missing, the DOD starts an investigation and discovers that he's been freelancing. There are no bodies, and when Lara goes down to the harbor under the pretext of following a Hawkeye lead, she finds the warehouse empty. It's hard to believe that all that machinery including a giant tank holding three dead bodies could just disappear like that, as if it had never been there to begin with.

They can't agree whether it's a government cover-up or if whoever Blomfeld was going to sell the precogs to decided to clean up after themselves.

"I didn't exactly stick around to see who'd come through the door," Wally argues. If he seems even more skittish than usual, Lara can't blame him. She's not sure which option she prefers – no matter who's behind the cover-up, someone out there knows about the precogs and Blomfeld's plan, and it's only a matter of time before they'll come after them. 

Agatha seems oddly unconcerned and serene. Her smile is sharp and dangerous. "If they found the bodies, they know we won't be taken without a fight." 

"Did you have any more visions?" 

They've both learned a crucial lesson about Agatha's visions in the wake of what happened. Lara now understands that they will come true, no matter how unlikely it seems, and Agatha acknowledges that her interpretation of what she sees is potentially flawed. Lara had hoped that it means the next time they'll try to figure it out together, but Agatha clearly has other plans.

She waves it off. "Nothing that should concern you, Detective."

There's little point in arguing with her. Unlike with Arthur, who likes to play hard to get where his premonitions are concerned, pushing Agatha won't get Lara anywhere. She'll only share things if she's ready.

*

They should be celebrating their latest arrest – another victory that will be credited to Hawkeye but is in fact only due to Dash's continued willingness to put his freedom at risk to save the lives of strangers – but Dash seems preoccupied and troubled.

Lara gently nudges him with her shoulder. "What's wrong? Is it Agatha? Did she have another vision?"

"No, nothing like that." He frowns, then looks up to her, nothing masking the self-doubts and the anxiety. "I'm... _glad_ that Wally killed Blomfeld. I know it's a terrible thing to think. We're spending all this time stopping murders. I want to save people, not harm them, but with Blomfeld... I don't think I would have stopped Wally, even if there'd been enough time."

It's clear how much the admission weighs on his conscience, how much it pains him and goes against his very nature.

"Dash, don't beat yourself up over it. Blomfeld had it coming after everything he planned on doing to you and your siblings." It's a dangerous way of thinking, and Lara's not nearly as comfortable with it as she tries to convey in her attempt to console Dash. She tries to justify it as self-defense, even though she knows it's not technically true. 

There's a fine line between the law and justice, and although as a Metro P.D. detective she tries to serve both, she's used to favoring law when the two are at odds. Lately, though, those issues have become more complex, the dichotomy more obvious, and it happens more and more frequently that she finds herself making different choices.

"It's not that." Dash hesitates. "I just– I hated the idea of running and leaving you behind. That we wouldn't even be able to tell you where we'd go."

He looks at her with an expression too open and honest, and she can't bear to turn away.

*

Arthur drags them to the most exclusive, expensive nightclub in the city and calls it a _team-building exercise_ , the irony of which – when he refuses to be part of any kind of team – even he must recognize. He touches his wrist to Lara's and frowns when the microbiome analyzer flashes in bright neon. _19%_ , it reads, _Don't bother_.

"Ouch," he mutters, wincing and clutching his heart dramatically, but it's easy to see that he's exaggerating his disappointment for effect.

Sipping from a rainbow colored cocktail, Agatha levels a sharp smile at her brother. "Maybe you should have tried Lieutenant Blake instead." For someone who's spent her entire adulthood hiding away on a remote island, she seems remarkably comfortable in the middle of the sweaty, shifting bodies and flashing lights of the club.

Blake chokes. "Thanks, I think I'll pass."

Lara is glad that they're too busy bickering and no one suggests she tries the analyzer's matchmaking skills on her and Dash. They've come a long way since it measured their chances with a cryptic, _Who knows?!_ and Lara isn't sure she's ready to put them to the test again.

Maybe Dash's thinking the same thing, because even in the bad artificial lighting, it's easy to spot the blush coloring his cheeks when their eyes meet. 

"Wanna dance?" he asks.

When the alternative is being subjected to the hyper-observant looks of Arthur, Agatha and Blake, Lara's all in favor for joining Akeela on the dance floor. "Sure, why not." 

"Have fun, kids!" Arthur calls after them, but they both choose to ignore him. More often than not, that's the best way to deal with Arthur, Lara has learned.

On the bright color-changing neon tiles of dance floor, Dash still stands out like a fish out of the water, awkwardly moving out of beat with the music. When she puts her hands on his shoulders and gently directs his movements, Lara tells herself she's only taking pity on him. But his pupils are blown wide and he flushes darker, and when he takes hold of her hips it feels painfully intimate and more reckless and dangerous than rushing in to take down an armed criminal.

*

Even after months of working together, they still have different definitions of what Dash's work as her Hawkeye analyst exactly entails. Mostly, they disagree about the risks he should be taking.

On this particular occasion, Dash narrowly escaped being shot, and Lara suddenly has a newfound sympathy for the precogs' vision because in her mind, she already saw him lying dead in a pool of his own blood, and it's hard to shake the mental image. 

It's even more frustrating when Dash doesn't seem to get it at all. "It's bad enough that you risk exposure by working with us, I can't worry on top of that about you throwing yourself in front of bullets like you're John McClane."

Dash looks confused. "Who?" As usual, the pop culture reference goes right over his head, but that's not the point.

Lara waves it off. "Old movie reference, never mind. Just some action hero who acted like he was invincible and kept taking unacceptable risks. Sounds familiar?"

"Lucas was going to shoot you. I saw it happening and I did what I had to do to stop it. What else do you expect me to do? Stand by while you get killed?" He frowns. "I don't understand why you're angry with me. We stopped Lucas from killing his brother-in-law, and then I stopped him from shooting you. No one got hurt. That's the reason why we do this, so what's your problem?"

It's hard not to yell at him, but he's clearly not being deliberately obstinate and pig-headed; he really doesn't understand. Fighting down the adrenaline-driven fear-turned-anger clawing up inside of her, Lara reaches out and gently squeezes his arms. "I just don't want to have to watch my partner bleed out in my arms because he jumped between me and some guy with a gun. I appreciate your dedication to protecting me, but can you not act like your life is worth any less than anyone else's?"

Dash's face softens, furrowed forehead smoothing out, and his eyes are warm and impossibly blue. He puts a steady, comforting palm against her cheek. "Vega. I didn't jump in front of the gun, I just pulled you out of the way. I'm fine, nothing happened."

Maybe he's right. Maybe she's overreacting. Maybe it's like looking at an old painting in an exhibition hall: it's impossible to see things clearly when you're standing too close. Maybe that's what happened to her: she's become too close.

*

Being a homicide detective has never been a nine to five job, but ever since Lara teamed up with a precog to stop murders before they happened, her schedule has gone from irregular to unpredictable. There's no telling when Dash's visions are going to strike, or how long they'll have to work out what's happening until it's too late. It's a race against the clock every time, and it doesn't allow for much of a personal life.

It doesn't bother her much. All of her romantic relationships have a tendency to end badly anyway, so not actively putting herself out there for a while seems like a good idea.

When they were partners, Blake and her used to be involved. His promotion abruptly ended their relationship before it really went anywhere, but it's hard to pinpoint what it was exactly that made them go up in flames so quickly as if someone had doused them in fire accelerant – if it was about the department's fraternization rules that suddenly became more crucial now that Blake was her direct superior, or about Lara's anger over being passed over in his favor, or perhaps Blake's new grim ambition that turned him from a devil-may-care cop into a slick-talking master of office politics.

These days, Lara tells herself she's simply too busy for dating, despite her mother's insistence that she'd like to have grandkids sometime this century, thank you very much. Maybe that's part of the reason why she says yes when Thomas from the deli round the corner asks her out one day when she's getting coffee and sandwiches for the team as they pull another all-nighter. Or perhaps it's just that she feels like it's been too long since she's done anything fun that didn't involve the people she was working with.

She gets back to the department just as Akeela is running one of Dash's drawings through facial recognition software. 

Dash turns towards her, eyes flickering to the tray and the bag in her hands, and his mouth curls into an unhappy downward curve. He's uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of the night, his replies almost monosyllabic, and Lara wonders what happened while she was gone, if it was something Akeela said or if Blake went on one of his lengthy rants about Arthur again.

When Dash's busy checking out potential suspects, Lara asks Akeela. "He was fine until you can back," she says, rolling her eyes and shrugging. "Men."

*

Dash turns up at her apartment at quarter to eight. He's soaking wet and out of breath, as if he just ran all the way here through the pouring rain without bothering with an umbrella.

"Don't go on that date," are the first words out of his mouth, as he pushes past her into her living room. 

He sounds urgent, upset, and Lara's thoughts immediately fly to how he must have found out about that date. It feels like a punch to the gut, entirely unfeasible and nauseating. Thomas seemed like such a sweet, charming guy, it's hard to imagine him as a sociopath killing women on their first date.

She closes the door and turns towards Dash. "Are you sure that he...?" She doesn't finish the question, letting the words hang there.

"What?" It clearly takes him a few seconds to understand where her imagination has taken her because she can spot the exact moment when he gets it. His eyes widen and he raises his hands in a defensive gesture, like he wants to physically push the idea away. "Oh, no, no, no, that's not– I didn't see– He's not going to hurt you. I think. I mean, from what I get you're going to have a perfectly lovely date." 

"Okay." Lara frowns, confused. "The why do you come running here telling me to blow off my _perfectly lovely_ date with this perfectly nice, non-murderous guy?" She doesn't quite understand how he had a vision of her date in the first place unless it ended in murder. Then again, she knows that Dash and his siblings occasionally get glimpses of other stuff as well, little flashes of the future that don't seem to be connected to anything, with no rhyme or reason to them.

Dash's mouth twists. "Look, it doesn't matter. It's stupid. Have a nice date. You do look lovely." His eyes slide over the red shift dress she's wearing and he offers a small smile, but even though she knows he means it, it looks chagrined and unhappy.

She catches his arm and stops him as he's about to slide past her towards the door. "No. You must have had a reason to come here tonight." She knows the moment her fingers wrap around his wrist, the beat of his pulse frantic under her skin. Perhaps she's known before. When she was more upset than she should have been about how close he got to Freddie, when he trusted her with his freedom and his life when he followed her inside Metro P.D. for the first time, when she felt like she was ready to tear the world apart after he got kidnapped, when he almost took a bullet to save her life. There's a difference between knowing and _knowing_ , though, and part of her wants him to say it even though the rest of her is afraid of what that means for them and wishes he'd turn around and walk out, restoring the status quo.

Dash looks equally conflicted, but maybe he sees something in her face that pushes him in one direction because he suddenly takes on that stubborn, determined expression he sometimes gets when they argue about a case. 

He doesn't try to pull himself free of her grip, stepping closer instead, right into her space. "I don't want you to go on that date," he says, his tone quiet but clear. No demand, just an explanation.

Neither of them makes a move to bridge those last few inches of distance between them, but at the same time, neither averts their eyes, and the moment stretches, taut like a rubber band about to snap. Lara nervously wets her lips, heat pooling in her stomach when she notices Dash's gaze following the motion. 

"What if this is a bad idea?" It's odd that she's so bold and reckless in her job and feels so cautious about this. "We work so well together, I don't want to risk our partnership in case this goes badly."

There's mischief in the small smile he offers her. "It won't."

It seems too absolute a statement to be based purely on the power of his convictions. "How can you know that? I thought you didn't see your own future."

" _I_ don't."

The emphasis he puts the pronoun helps Lara draw her conclusion. "… but Agatha does. Wait, does that mean you knew I wouldn't go on the date with Thomas?" 

Dash shakes his head. "I didn't. You know I don't put too much faith in Agatha's interpretations of her visions, especially where you are concerned. She's been wrong before." 

He's right, of course, and Lara appreciates the courage it must have taken for him to go out on a limb and trust in Agatha's vision when he knew all too well how deceiving they could be. The last time, when Agatha was sure Lara would betray them, Lara was desperate to prove her wrong. 

She reaches up and gently runs her fingertips over the side of his face, watching the blue of his eyes become dark with desire. His stubble is rough against her skin, his breath is warm on her face, and he smells of coffee and Agatha's home-made apple pie. He goes painstakingly still under her touch, as if he's afraid that any motion might break the spell and make her back away. Never before has he seemed so completely, devastatingly _human_ , and it's hard to understand that anyone could look at him and see anything else.

"How about we prove her right this time?" Lara says, before finally closing the distance between them and pulling him into a kiss.

End.


End file.
